Shards of Life
by MissJinny
Summary: My first ever piece of Harry Potter fiction. Short; one shot. A snapshot view of the Hell that is Severus Snape's life. May be slight ooc, not sure. let me know. R


a/n: First Harry Potter fiction I've ever done.  It's not long and hardly complicated.  Just sort of a snapshot into the hell that Severus Snape must endure.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters affiliated with him.

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The winter was so cold he could almost feels his dreams shatter.

Riddle manor looked bleak--more so than normal.  Even at his back the busted, dark windows and gaping doorways with splintered jams left a chill on his spine that had nothing to do with the freezing cold.

The walkway never looked so long as it did in this moment.  Dragging a leg that was surely broken, Severus Snape ground his teeth as he limped down the uneven stone stairs.  Black ice smirked at him from the ground, waiting for him to step improperly so that it might break the man's stony silence and hear him scream in pain.  Severus spat on it, a mixture of phlegm and blood that he refused to consider meant he was further damaged than he first thought.

Voldemort was furious tonight, a vibrating ball of rage that set the whole manor atremble.  Not a single death eater was spared his wrath.  Even Lucius, Riddle's pet death eater, was beaten bloody and cursed with Unforgivables until pink bubbles frothed from his mouth with silent screams.

Severus let a grimaced smile curl his lips at the thought of that.  High and mighty Lucius Malfoy, brought to a crying, blubbering heap by the one he worshiped so dearly.  He snorted, letting the thought drift away with the sharp, jostling pain of his femur.  Black ice twinkled in the voided light that surrounded the manor.  Nearly got you, Snape.  It spoke to him.  Severus glared at it and stopped for a second to huddle in on himself as a vicious wind snapped around the building in hard gusts.

His death eater robes caught and the ferocity nearly sucked him from his feet.  Severus curled his hands tighter around his collar, hissing in pain.  He glared at the paleness of his hands burrowed in the cuffs of his robes.  The first two fingers and thumb of his right hand were splintered; a dull throbbing ache reminding him that they were still attached and that he was going to have trouble holding vials for several days even after a decent draught of Skelegrow.

Looking up he was nearly to the apparation point.  The bent wrought iron flung open and sandwiched between the crumbling outer wall and downy hill of snow.  Severus stared at his hand, the fingers already swollen to a horrid degree.  He closed his eyes and could still hear the dry kindling snap as they broke.  Riddle's vibrant red eyes glowing in sadistic pleasure, waiting for his favorite potions master to scream for him.  Grasping each at two separate sections, breaking at the first and second knuckles.  But it had taken three fingers before Severus even let out a sound, and then he refused to scream and only whimpered in his throat as he was forced to watch his only asset be destroyed.  Voldemort was angry then, and Severus waited for crucio and was saved by the startled crying of another as their resolve broke.  Riddle stood shouting, forgetting about Severus' hands and turned his sights to the unfortunate being who showed weakness.

He stumbled, crying out as he tried to support himself on his broken leg.  White hot pain seared to his toes and up through his spine until he could see it glaring behind his eyes.  Severus scrabbled for a handhold as he felt himself fall. His left grasped frost slicked iron, the right clenched and the pain ran like fire to his shoulder.  The wards snapped over him like tight cling-wrap and he groped in his pocket for the silver button portkey inside.

The tug at his stomach let him forget about his pain for a moment until he landed in the Forbidden Forest.  He collapsed to the earth, laying in several inches of snow.  Severus lay still, waiting for the throbbing to pass and partly thanking whoever was controlling the weather for the cold that helped numb him.  Slowly, the virgin white beneath was tainted with crimson and Severus could hear the shifting of the beasts that lived within the forest as they caught wind of his pooling life-blood.  Now the largest obstacle of the night was how in the seven hells could he get up with a broken leg and half a working hand?

Using his elbows and one good leg, Severus slowly inched his way to a tree and used its unwavering support to help him push himself up.  When he finally stood on his own legs again, sweat was dripping down his face and a trail of tainted snow stretched for nearly seven feet.  The first step toward Hogwarts was the worst.  Severus set a harsh pace for his abused body until he exited the Forbidden Forest and slowed to a lopping gait that took him forty minutes to cross the grounds--a far cry from the usual fifteen-- to the secret entrance to the dungeons.

The stone shut behind him and Severus leaned against the cold, damp wall breathing in hard ragged breaths.  He pulled the mask from his face, sneering at it and resisted the urge to set it afire and let it burn to ash in the empty hall.

Dumbledore appeared at the end of the corridor, the usual twinkle in his eye missing.  "Severus, are you all right, my boy?"

Severus chuffed, taking a step further into the hall.  Dumbledore hurried forward, grabbing hold of Severus' elbow to lead the potions master carefully to the infirmary.  Severus however had alternate ideas and forcibly removed his arm from the headmaster's grasp when he was outside his personal quarters.

Instead of quarrelling, Dumbledore sighed in resignation and followed the man into his chambers.  Severus ignored the elder and painstakingly made his way beyond his desk and to the cabinet behind.

Fumbling the latch with his left hand, the doors finally released and Severus took a bottle from the center shelf.  He pulled the cork with his teeth and spat it toward the fireplace, swallowing the elixir quickly.  He sat stiffly in his chair and waited impatiently for the pain to recede.  When the pain clouding his eyes lifted he looked wearily at Dumbledore.  "I'm getting far too old for this, Albus."

Dumbledore granted him a sad smile.  "We all are, Severus."

Snape grunted, testing his fingers slowly by gripping the edge of his desk.  Pain flared and he released, settling his hand gently in his lap.  "I'd like to live long enough to see all this work worth it."  He glanced up through his greasy hair.  Albus Dumbledore was frowning, tugging at the tip of his beard and gazing at him with an odd emotion held in his eyes.

"Things will get better, Severus, that I promise you."  Albus spoke, voice low.

Severus turned his eyes to the small rectangular window high upon the wall.  Patterns of frost etched across the glass in beautiful, fragile designs.  A hard wind rattled the pane and the cold seeped through the stones and settled around Severus' shoulders.  His fingers throbbed in time with his femur and Severus heard a dream crack.  "Don't..." He turned his eyes back to Albus.  The headmaster's heart fell into his stomach at the void he saw in Severus' eyes.  "Don't make promises you can't keep."


End file.
